


Jagerbombs

by Alithea



Series: Violet Art [3]
Category: Revolutionary Girl Utena
Genre: Alternate Universe, Crossover, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-03-06
Updated: 2010-03-06
Packaged: 2017-10-07 18:22:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,005
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/67898
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alithea/pseuds/Alithea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After a night of heavy drinking Shiori spends the morning riding herself of her hangover. Part of the Violet Art AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Jagerbombs

Jagermeister was always a bad idea.

Shiori put a hand to her forehead as she very slowly sat up in bed. Blurry eyed she glanced around and took in her surroundings. She was alone which was a bonus, and she was in her own bed which was another bonus. She sighed and then winced as her cat bounced into her lap. It was going to be a long morning. She took a deep breath. First thing was first though, and the first thing she needed for her hangover was a greasy breakfast and a lot of coffee.

Jager was always a bad idea. It always snuck in somehow when she least expected it. She would go out have a few good sturdy rum and cokes, and satisfied she'd chat with a bartender or maybe dance. Inevitably, someone always brought up shots. Some jerk who she hated would say she wasn't drunk enough, and didn't she want to have any fun? And then there would be shots, which she could handle. Except if they were Jagermiester shots.

It had become her alcohol equivalent of an arch nemesis.

She'd be riding high on seven shots of tequila and then somehow the Jager would slip in and that would be it.

Shiori realized, as she was brushing her teeth, that she was sounding like a drunk, and she wasn't. She didn't even drink that often, and before she could stop herself she could hear her mother's voice talking about how denial was a sign of addiction. She spit out her toothpaste into the sink and rinsed out her mouth with water. Her mother was charmingly convinced Shiori was going to end up being an alcoholic-drug-addict-whore, or worse, a lesbian.

At this point Shiori was happy to be addiction free, but there wasn't anything she could about being a lesbian, even if she did fight it tooth and nail when she was in high school.

Her stomach grumbled and she decided to get dressed as quickly as she could.

In a clean pair of paint free jeans and a brightly colored sweatshirt Shiori meandered down to the neighborhood diner and procured a seat at the counter. She wished she had remembered her sunglasses. Everything seemed far too bright, but that sensation began to fade as she sipped her coffee and consumed a bit of toast. It was a preorder to the largest plate of bacon and eggs she could get her hands on.

She glanced around the restaurant looking for fellow members of the party crowd. She spotted a candidate in a corner booth who was grinning despite the bags under his eyes and the uneasy look he gave his companions regarding over easy eggs. Everyone else in the place was just the Sunday brunch crowd.

Shiori gave up and focused on her food. Generally, she ate much better, but then, generally, she didn't feel like she had been through a rinse cycle in a washing machine. The idea made her arch an eyebrow and she fumbled in her pocket for a pen that she used to make a sketch on a napkin.

The thought occurred to her as she paid her bill and walked back to her apartment that she should vow to never again drink her liquid nemesis, but she knew better than to hope. It always found a way in. The key, she felt, was dealing with those people who challenged her and not give in to them. That was a better strategy and something she needed to work on anyway.

After a long hot shower and a nap she felt more alive. As she lay in bed contemplating the rest of her day her cell phone rang and seeing the unknown number she decided to take a chance and answer, rather than ignore.

"Hello." She said and noticed the dubious pause at the other end.

"Shiori?" The voice asked and it was so recognizable Shiori could not help but to sigh.

"Yeah?" She tried to sound chipper, but she wasn't sure how she felt about the call. She wondered if she should pretend she didn't recognize the voice and then quickly said, "How did you get this number, Juri?"

There was a long pause and then Juri said, "A mutual acquaintance."

"I'm going to have to have a talk with Kirika," Shiori mumbled and then said, "What can I do for you?"

"I need an artist."

"I bet you do." She shut her eyes and took a deep breath. She wasn't sure she trusted the tone in Juri's voice. "Why don't you tell me more over dinner?"

"I-"

"Look, Juri, I'm a starving artist with a hangover. If we have business I'd like to go over it where I can fuel up." Shiori was amused by her tone. She wondered if anyone talked to Juri the way she did. She doubted anyone else could manage it.

"Fine. How about eight?"

"Sounds good. Where?"

"How about my place?" The question was steady and calm, but there was something, a slight tremor that made the question a dare. There was a hint of fear and pushing boundaries.

Shiori grinned and then she chuckled into the phone. "Juri, I'll be there."

Directions were given and Shiori sat at the edge of her bed. She looked at the directions and wondered if maybe she were doing exactly the opposite of what she had meant to do. She didn't really need to take every dare that came her way, but there was just something about the tone Juri used that made it impossible to resist. She was prepared to be pummeled into the ground, after all Juri was an expert at beating her.

Shiori left the house a few hours later, dressed in a pair of slacks and a red off the shoulder sweater. She rounded the corner of her street and walked into the first liquor store she came across. She presented her I.D. and looked over at the cashier and said, "One bottle of Jager please."

End.


End file.
